“He doesn’t want her dead,” I said, testing my theory, gauging the healer’s reaction.
“It won’t kill her.” She dipped her chin, speaking to Lyana, “But it will be… veryunpleasant.”
Tears streaked my dear friend’s cheeks. “I don’t want it.”
“It works quickly, only taking a few days to run its course,” Gilead assured.
Lyana’s gaze widened with panic, and she snatched my hand, clutching it tight. I struggled to decipher the message she was trying to relay, but couldn’t grasp it. Was she afraid of more pain? Did she doubt the healer, fearing poison?
“Pour it,” I hissed.
Gilead took a sharp breath at my order and rose from the bed.
“El…” Ethyan’s warning was slow, his gaze guarded and dangerous as she poured the tea.
I silently begged him to trust me.
“Here, you must drink the whole cup.”
The healer held it out, and I shifted to reach for it, but Lyana gripped me tighter.
“Please, don’t make me,” she whimpered, voice a strained whisper.
Ethyan straightened, glare hard. “Elspeth!”
At the edge in his tone, Sainte came closer, tension crackling in the cramped space. Even Urien shifted near the door, sensing the unease.
I tugged my hands free of Lyana’s hold, offering her a sad but earnest smile. “Trust me.”
I took the cup. The tea, having cooled during the long wait, gave off a potent herbal stench. Bitter was a fair name for it. I arched a brow at Gilead. “Can I assume her rooms will be searched?”
“For the next few days, yes.” She cast an apologetic grimace toward Lyana. “This was not a request. I am bound by Nothar, but the prince regent’s orders hold sway over us mortals. We must obey his demands.”
My teeth ground together. Would sheobeyhis orders and poison a guest simply because she wasboundby his commands?
Lyana gripped the blanket’s hem, her knuckles white. “He’s not my regent.”
“I don’t obey him.” I raised the cup to my lips and tossed back the foul drink in two swift gulps.
Chaos erupted.
Urien cursed, Sainte stormed toward me, and Ethyan spun to face him, blade in hand.
“What have you done!?” Gilead shrieked, features twisted in horror.
After swiping my sleeve across my wet lips, I pushed to my feet and tossed the empty cup onto the bed. “I’ve cut my strings.”
A flicker of a smile twitched on Lyana’s cheeks—the first one I’d seen since this all started.
That was worth everything.
“It appears I’ll be out for a while. Make sure our sheets are exchanged before yourhealerscheck on her. If my brother asks, tell him I’ve taken ill from the elements.” I looked up, catching Sainte’s stormy gaze.
“You will regret this,” he growled.
That night, the cramps set in.
Did I regret my actions? No. Could I have done it differently? I wished. I experienced cramping with my cycles. They were manageable—something women lived with. In the slums, I didn’t have the luxury of lying about while I bled. This surpassed anything I ever felt. Women screamed in childbirth, and as I trembled on my bed, curled tight, I battled the urge with teeth bared. Surely, this pain rivaled birth.
